Unconventional Obsession
by DarkObsessions
Summary: Rock tries to deal with an onslaught of screwed up feelings he has towards Revy. Revy's in a mood and takes to trying to get under his skin.


**DISCLAIMER:** This is purely a work of fiction. I don't own Black Lagoon or it's characters, they are the property of Rei Hiroe. I am not profiting from writing this fan fiction.

****AN: ****Ok, so this is a another story ported over from my old account which has long since been abandoned (username: Inubaby7001). After a thorough editing, I've deemed it worthy of being resurrected. However, I think it is pretty conclusive as is, so I don't think I'll be adding any more content to it. Hence the 'completed' tag which wasn't present on my previous account's post. Enjoy, & please feel free to make my day by dropping me a review. I really appreciate the feedback :)

**UNCONVENTIONAL OBSESSION**

The boat rocked fiercely as it sped along side the enemy, the possibility of sudden death a likely probability. His knuckles whitened as his grip tightened on the rail. He clung there with his mouth hanging agape and his breath coming fast. Though oddly enough, it wasn't their situation that had him in such a state. It wasn't their situation that had him out on deck amidst the gunfire, clutching the rail like some clueless idiot.

No, he was standing out there because of her, because of Revy. Dutch had already told him to get his ass below, but he hadn't moved. Later he'd claim to have been worried for her safety, that that was why he'd stayed; and there would be some truth to it, but not entirely.

The real cause for his stupidity was that he couldn't quite manage to tear himself from the way she moved out there. Her body twisting and bending effortlessly as she dispatched the enemy, firing round after round until nothing moved, until there was only her.

He swallowed hard. It was wrong, so wrong for him to be feeling what he was feeling. He watched her leaping from boat to boat, slaughtering them one by one and he felt a perverse sort of awe, praised her ability to deliver death.

It wasn't even that he condoned killing, he didn't, in fact he abhorred it. He truly believed that if there was an alternative to violence then that alternative was the the path to be chosen. Yet still, there was something to be said about her, about the way she moved and the skills she possessed.

It was sick. He knew it was. But watching her, he couldn't help but feel as if it was all somehow beautiful. That she was beautiful. That the skill and grace with which she moved; barely bothering to spare them a glace before snuffing them out, was somewhat exhilarating.

It was fairly obvious that she was damaged goods, a broken, twisted shell of a person. She lived for the kill and the pay that followed it. He knew that.

But despite it, there he stood, his eyes never leaving her form. 'Sick' hardly covered it. He was probably more fucked up than she was.

**X-x-X-x-X-x-X-x-X-x-X-x-X-x-X-x-X-x-X-x-X-x-X-x-X-x-X-x-X-x-X-x-X-x-X-x-X-x-X-x-X-x-X  
**

"What the fuck, Rock?" Revy bellowed out from behind the shower curtain in the bathroom down the hall from where he was sprawled on the couch.

How he had praised this woman only hours ago, now escaped him. He must have been feeling generous, because now? Now he wanted to strangle her.

She'd spent the entire evening bitching and moaning about just about everything he said and did. He was beginning to think she was purposefully trying to provoke him. That in it's self was irritating enough, but what really had him itching was the fact that it was working. That he was more than likely playing into whatever it was she was trying to do. He didn't like being manipulated.

He was generally pretty good at dealing with her. Usually he seemed to know just what to say to get her to either back off or storm out, but every so often she'd get into one of these moods. Every so often, was now.

Brushing a hand though his hair he let out an irritated breath, letting his head fall back on the couch. He heard her come into the room but chose to ignore her. That was his first mistake.

A cold, wet towel collided with his face an instant before the cursing started.

"Listen dick weed, I thought I told you not to spend a goddamned decade in the shower! There's not a fucking drop of hot water left in this shit hole! I just spent the last 5 minutes scrubbing in ice water!" She waved one of her cutlasses around for emphasis, as if It were simply an extension of one of her arms.

Clenching his teeth, he tore the offending material off his head and abruptly sat up. He was fully intending on telling her just where she could shove it. At least that was the plan before he came to notice she was standing before him wearing nothing but a pair of high cut, strappy, black panties and a whole lot of rage.

He hated it when she did this. She seemed to believe that despite the fact that he was indeed a heterosexual male, the sight of her mostly naked form wasn't supposed to have any effect on him. She could not have been more wrong. He often wondered if it was because she honestly didn't think he was interested, or if she just assumed he was too pussy to do anything about it. Maybe she just figured that if he ever did try anything she'd just shoot him and be done with it. He imagined the latter was probably the most likely.

There was a short pause between them just before he managed to suck in enough breath to attempt to play the whole thing off like it was as little a thing as she obviously believed it was.

"If you wanted hot water then you should have told me you were planning on showering. There's not enough hot water in this place to run two showers and the washing machine all at once!" Rock spat back.

Her body still glistened with water droplets and her wet hair clung to her skin, much in the way he'd like to. He struggled to maintain eye contact and an expression of simple annoyance.

"Then maybe you shouldn't have waited till now to wash the damned clothes, asshole!" She stepped forward with malicious intent. At least, he assumed it was with malicious intent, her nakedness was distracting.

Still, he managed a response without making too much of an ass of himself. "Maybe you'd like to do you're own laundry then? Maybe I'll just start leaving them laying around where you take them off!"

"Maybe I'll just cap your ass and be done with the whole thing! Think I'd have some hot water then?" She stepped forward again, advancing further so that she could better get in his face.

"Yep, sure would! But I don't see how it'd do you any good as you'd be strutting around wearing clothes that smell like ass!" He shot back.

Rage burned in her eyes.

Silently he thanked Jesus she'd come closer because her near proximity was making it a whole lot easier to just keep eye contact. It forced him to look only at her face. Still, the fact that she was practically nose to nose and wearing next to nothing, was not lost on him.

He needed to find some way to get her to back off before she noticed just exactly what she was doing to him.

"Just back off Revy..." He hissed through clenched teeth.

Wrong choice of words. He watched new fire spark in her eyes and he knew she'd seen the comment as little more than a challenge.

She bared her teeth. "Or what?"

"Or nothing, just back off..." He was suddenly very uncomfortable.

She saw the change in him and that change brought with it a twisted little curving of her lips. What had previously been simple rage at having had to bathe in cold water, now turned to mild amusement. She loved getting under his skin.

He was usually so composed, so prim and proper and pristine. But occasionally, when she pushed just hard enough, she could get him to crack. To scream and yell, show her he wasn't just another limp dick pussy. It made her feel alive, it made her hot.

Not that she'd ever let him know that. She'd burn in hell before she admitted to anyone that she found him even remotely attractive. She had to reputation to uphold after all.

Still, it was fun to make him squirm. "What's the matter Rocky-Baby? Gonna hit me?" She teased.

"No." His voice was firm but he was sweating, wanted nothing more than to make her go away before he did something stupid. He reached up to loosen his tie. Where was all the Goddamned air in here?

The movement of his hand caught her attention and she frowned. "I fucking hate that stupid tie, you look like an idiot." Her hand came up to try and yank the said garment from his throat. He tried to swat her hands away and she responded by shoving him back into the couch. The tie slipped from his neck, in her grip as he flew backward. She smirked.

He watched with wide eyes as she tossed the tie over her shoulder and followed him over to where he'd dropped into a sitting position. Her knee came up to press into the couch to the right of his thigh, her other coming up on the opposite side to follow suit. She was now effectively straddling him.

There was panic in his eyes and a perverse sense of delight in hers.

"Revy, what the hell?" He gasped. What the fuck did she think she was dong? Did she think this was funny? It wasn't, he was dying. So horribly torn between the desire to reach up and grab her and the need to throw her off. He knew damn well she was playing with him. That daring to do either would more that likely result in a gun being pressed against his various body parts. He wondered briefly if maybe it was worth it.

"What? Am I invading your space? Gonna let me know I'm unwelcome?" Her smirk cracked into a full blown grin and she brazenly ground her pelvis against his hardened crotch. His eyes nearly left his head.

She only chuckled and leaned in close to his ear to whisper, "Go ahead, try and show me who's boss.." her last words were punctuated by the pressing of the nozzle of her gun into his ribcage. She clicked back the hammer, continued to grind against him, her breath heavy against his ear and neck.

She was killing him. Truly. She'd always enjoyed pushing his buttons, riling him up, whatever worked. He knew that, and he'd eventually come to accept it simply as who she was. But this? This was a whole new form of torture.

He was fairly certain that she had no real intention of actually fucking him, the whole thing was likely just another way to get under his skin. While indeed wildly aroused, the idea of that still pissed him off. Who did she think she was? He wasn't some pansy she could push around. He was done with that, he'd left it all behind when he'd chosen to step into her world of blood and chaos, to follow her.

So what was the worst she could do? Kill him? He doubted she'd actually shoot him, not fatally anyway. Despite their twisted sort of relationship, they were actually quite close, at least as close as one could get to someone like Revy. She'd risked her life for his on more than one occasion. And if she wasn't about to kill him, what did he really have to loose?

A small voice of reason echoed in his head, desperately tried to push through the haze of lust. There were worse things than death. But she shifted her weight and his mind went blank.

Fuck it.

His hands came up, grasped her hips and yanked her down hard against the stiffness of his pants. His hips no longer lay frozen beneath her but now moved with her, creating an exquisite sort of rhythm.

Her breath hissed out, gun pressed harder into his ribs. "Careful, Slick..."

But he ignored her, pulled her closer with each drive of their hips. She growled but didn't bother to fight him other than to press her gun a little harder still. In an act of defiance, his hand twitched, sliding up her thigh and across her lower abdomen to quickly disappear down into the front of her panties.

Wide eyed, she jerked away from his ear to look him in the face. There was a blatant defiance there, a fire that she'd created and stoked. But God he had some nerve, she hadn't given him permission to touch her. In fact, she'd done exactly the opposite and gave him fair warning not to. Yet there he was, rubbing fast hard circles over her clit and rocking against her like he'd no real concern for the bloody death she'd promised.

Well, well, it seemed her little pencil pusher had some balls after all.

Decidedly undeterred, she continued to move, refusing to give him the satisfaction of knowing he'd managed to surprise her. That she actually enjoyed the fact that he'd pushed back, fought her instead of just letting her do as she pleased. Besides, it was still only a game, and she didn't loose gracefully. Hell, she didn't loose at all.

One hand braced on his shoulder while the other continued to hold him at gun point, neither party seemed willing to let up. Resisting the urge to groan, she panted out, "Got a death wish do ya, baby?"

A dry laugh left his throat. By God, if he was going to go out, this was the way to do it. "Maybe. But you'll cum first."

Again, he surprised her. Was this the man that hid behind that stuffy, proper exterior? Beneath that ridiculous shirt and tie? If it was, then she'd have to make a habit of drawing him out more often.

She laughed. Sure. Why not? She was half way there already. She leaned back, braced her hand against his knee behind her, rolled her hips once, twice.

He leaned forward, bending them back a bit to gain better access to her breasts. His tongue flicked out over her and she quivered despite herself. With a knowing smirk of his own, he renewed his assault. One of his hands continued to work her into a frenzy while the other gripped her ass, holding her in place as they rocked against each other.

She was close, so close. They both knew it. But this would hardly do, she needed to regain some shred of control over the situation before he got any ridiculous ideas about his abilities. Panting, she raised the gun to his face, causing him to pull his attention from her chest and look up at her. Even with a gun in his face, his hips didn't so much stop moving as they did simply shift cadence to accommodate her.

Growling, she forced him back, his hand pulling from her panties as she shifted so that she was turned slightly and uttered a single command. "Lay down."

He complied, but held to her hips, sliding her along with him so that she was seated atop him as he lay back on the couch. Oddly enough, the smile that spread across his mouth both irritated and added to her need. He looked as if he might say something, so she beat him to it. "Shut up. Don't say anything. Just follow through on that threat." Her gun was repositioned at his gut, and she pressed down hard as she bore down on him.

He could only assume she meant his promise to make her cum, which was fine, he was more than happy to comply. His hand went back to working her as she rode him. He couldn't help but imagine what it would be like to simply tear away the barriers of cloth between them. Ride her till she screamed his name and milked him dry.

But he knew better than to try. She'd have none of it, not unless it were on her terms. And so for now he'd settle for this. Hell, at this point he'd settle for just about any scrap she was willing to offer him.

The woman drove him wild. Absolutely mad. He was sure she'd be the death of him, quite literally actually. For as he watched her writhe and pant, as he watched her come close to the edge, moaning dirty little obscenities as she went; he realized something. He was never going to leave this woman, he didn't want to. This pushy, rude, psychotic, exhilarating woman was his obsession. A sick, nonsensical and masochistic obsession. And even against his better judgment, he had to admit he liked it.

Her hand clutched the front of his shirt, caught something warm and metal beneath it. She made a note to see just exactly what it was later, but for now she was lost.

Her body jerked and quivered as she came hard above him, mouth open in a silent cry. He felt the heat of her double in intensity and his eyes nearly rolled in his head. He drove harder, praying to reach his release before she came down off of hers and decided to leave him as is.

She shook lightly as he ground against her, her senses in overdrive as she rode out the remaining aftershocks of her release. Just as she was coming down off the last of it, he went rigid beneath her, his hips lifting up off the couch as he blew his load all over the inside of his pants. She watched him with an odd sense of satisfied fascination.

For a moment neither moved, just remained as they were, breathing heavily.

Then she spoke, her tone care free and nonchalant, as if they hadn't just dry humped each other into oblivion. "So what's this then, eh?" she reached into the front of his shirt and pulled out what seemed to be a bullet on the end of a chain around his neck. Her thumb skimmed over it.

His hand came up fast to stop her but just ended up closing over hers. She looked up to find him blushing furiously. He fumbled for an explanation but quickly found none were adequate for as to why he was wearing such a strange thing.

Her eyebrow arched. "Is that... "she shoved his hand away and examined the thing a little more closely. It was of a caliber that matched the very cutlass still pressed into his gut.

Their eyes met again and she knew before he spoke where the bullet had come from.

"It's, uhh... The one you gave me. You know, after I told you I was the bullet and you the gun... " He shifted awkwardly, knowing he sounded silly. That she'd probably consider wearing such a thing to be something born of some weak, bullshit sentimentality.

For a second there was silence. If she felt that quiver of warmth wash over her, or that tinge of sentiment fill her chest, she didn't show it. It wasn't in her nature.

Instead she laughed, a short and bright sound that was the exact opposite of the one that tore from her chest in the heat of battle. Leaning forward she gave a quick rough ruffle of his hair before she muttered "Idiot." and climbed off of him to head for the hallway.

He watched her stroll off, mildly surprised when she stopped in the door way to the hall. "Oh, you should probably clean yourself up. Dutch wants us out on the pier in an hour." With that, she disappeared down the hall, her disappearance quickly followed by the sound of the bathroom door locking. Obviously with no thought or care to the fact that he too would need that washroom.

He sat up, glanced down at himself and signed. What the hell had just happened?

Rage, followed by dry humping at gunpoint, followed by an awkward and somewhat sentimental confession to which she didn't after berate him for. At least not much, simply called him an idiot.

Today was a strange day, a very strange day.

As he thought about it, he suddenly came to the realization that while he had stood up to her like he'd intended, it had still been a truly fucked up situation. In a nutshell she had climbed into his lap and shoved a gun in his ribs, only to command him to make her cum, then proceeded to dry hump him into jizzing in his pants like a thirteen hear old boy.

And he'd liked it. Oh God, had he ever liked it. All of it, even the gun in his ribs. Fucked up, truly.

There was quite clearly something wrong with him. But even as he thought it, there was a smile creeping across his lips, he didn't really care. He'd follow her anywhere, as much for her simple company as for the hope that she'd decide to repeat what had transpired today.

He chuckled as he stood and heading down the hall to his room. "Rokuro Okajima, the masochist pirate, how rich..."


End file.
